Falling
by Exploding Penguin
Summary: What awaits Jarvan IV during his imprisonment in Noxus goes beyond mere torture. Stripped of his pride, he is subjected to the Deceiver's twisted whims.


_This fic takes place under the assumption that, as many people continue to suspect, LeBlanc has indeed been impersonating Jarvan during the events described in the Journal of Justice. Even if the storyline in question has yet to be resolved, I hope you enjoy my slightly more risqué take on the events behind the chaos in Kalamanda._

_Warning: This piece contains graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex._

**Falling**_  
_

The dim, flickering candlelight was enough to vaguely delineate the prisoner's bleak and grungy surroundings. His eyes remained fixed upon the wall ahead of him, as he could hardly move under the restriction of the sturdy chains that bound him in place. Minutes, hours, days, weeks – his perception of time had deteriorated as regret and desperation had slowly consumed his mortal soul.

His pride had been broken, and the bitter sting of shame occupied his train of coherent thought to the point that the grating hunger tugging at him seemed negligible. Perhaps he was going to meet his end in this wretched place, closed off from the glory he once knew, without even a chance to redeem himself. Jarvan IV, the once mighty prince of Demacia, now stripped of his crown and reduced to a plaything for the scum of Noxus – the very thought caused him to grit his teeth in disgust.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard someone's light, resonant footsteps echoing through the corridor outside the cell, and the door finally swung open with a dissonant creak.

"A pleasure to see you here, Your Majesty. You look to be doing well."

It was a woman's voice, smooth yet venomous in tone. The vivid golden lining of her cloak glittered in the dim light as she accompanied his familiar nemesis into the dungeon. He seethed with a silent rage as he watched her carelessly amble about the room, staring at the walls as if there were something worth admiring about them, not even sparing him a cursory glance. Still, he had grown used to hearing nothing but mockery from Swain's daily visits, so even as he tried his hardest to remind himself that LeBlanc was every bit as vile as her companion, her presence had a calming effect on him.

She finally approached him to gently caress his cheek with one hand. Her face was like a picture, a perfect image of beauty – _too_ perfect, he thought, remembering that her physical appearance was nothing more than an illusion. Still, as if mesmerized, he couldn't stop staring into the depths of her dark eyes.

A finger traced the edges of his lips and pressed against his mouth, coaxing him into opening up slightly. He could have sworn that he tasted something sweet on her hand as she made contact with his tongue and waited for him to swallow once. It was only after she withdrew her finger, covering his lips as if to silence him, that he recognized the bitter aftertaste of Nyzer poison against his tongue. The slight smile she wore reminded him what a fool he had been to let his guard down.

"Relax, it's only a small dose," she whispered, feeling him tense up in fear beneath her touch. "You won't die. Just stay still."

He wasn't happy about taking orders from her, but at this point, he had lost the will to resist. She embraced him from behind and reached for the clasps holding his armor together. Swain's piercing gaze shook him out of his state of delirium. The elderly tactician had remained there all along, watching intently from the other end of the room. It finally dawned on him. He was going to be humiliated here, stripped of his last shred of pride in front of his most hated enemy.

"Let go of me," he roared, struggling against her grip, only to discover that his strength was fading – undoubtedly a result of the poison he had ingested a moment ago.

The sorceress' motions were deft as she carefully divested him of the rest of his clothing, making him briefly wonder if she was familiar with the armor he wore. He glared defiantly at Swain, expecting to him to say something, but he remained motionless. The cold gaze of his red eyes remained constant, as if to remind the prince that he was going to enjoy every second of this twisted show.

Jarvan could feel the drug finally taking its toll on him. His mind was clouded and his body felt numb as she removed the last of his garments and urged him to lie down. The floor of the cell was cold and hard, but all he could take in was the vivid image of the seductress before him. He couldn't possibly let himself be swayed now, not by the way her dark locks framed the soft, enticing skin of her face and neck, not by the glow of the candlelight illuminating her rosy complexion. Without even realizing it, he had propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at her.

She definitely was beautiful.

"Do not mock me, Noxian whore. The likes of you could never hope to-"

In that instant, she silenced him with a brief kiss. There was no way he could have been prepared for something like this, but he still reassured himself that he would not give in, even as she refused to give him time to breathe before pressing her mouth against his once more.

This time, she was more assertive. Her fingers entwined in his hair as she roughly embraced him, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His mind went completely blank – for a brief moment, all he could do was savor the sweet feeling of her tongue against his own. He was left breathless when she finally pulled away from him, gently sucking on his lower lip, and his eyes widened in fear once it dawned on him that he had actually begun to enjoy this torment.

Now she was the one admiring him. He nervously watched as her eyes wandered down his figure and an appreciative smile crept across her lips. Every muscle in his body was tense, and she was more than willing to feast her eyes on the magnificent sight of the violated prince before her. Her fingertips traced the contours of his hardened abs, encouraging him to relax, and as much as he wanted to deny it, his body had begun to react to her advances. Perhaps she wouldn't notice, perhaps she would have mercy on him.

_Please, _he thought, _don't look any lower –_

"You're getting hard."


End file.
